


From Want to Need

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), Boffin1710, natalieashe



Series: Can't Drown My Demons, They Know How To Swim [8]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/pseuds/Boffin1710, https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/natalieashe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the dark small hours Alec reflects on when exactly alcohol became so significant in escaping the bad times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Want to Need

He isn't sure when want turned to need.

Perhaps it was the day the Towers fell, stunned, immobile, glued to the television screen in a Beijing hotel room. Bodies leapt to certain death and dazed zombies struggled through the dust storm, crying, bleeding. Roll the VT, pause, repeat. Flash to the grave faced reporter. Back to the watery eyed newscaster. Endless repeat. Emergency sirens wailed and lights flashed, and slowly, almost gracefully, the sanity of the world followed the falling structures.

Three bottles of wine. Half dozen whiskies. Fucking a field agent who was wrong place, right time. Holding each other while people died repeatedly on the muted TV.

Maybe it was another bloody Six function where he was expected to play nice, shake the right hands, charm the right people. Too bad the last mission was a failure. Too bad the medication made him woozy. Too bad the booze was free.

Two bottles of wine. Few pints. Antidepressants. Colleagues faces blurring, laughing. Suck the right dicks if necessary. Sinking more vodka to make the thought bearable. Then on his knees in a toilet cubicle, mouth stuffed full while a suit grunted and humped his face. Vomiting cum, booze and shame into the bowl.

Perhaps it was the unbearably long nights of downtime. Sleepless, restless, bored and angry. Lonely. So fucking lonely, even in a crowd. Life in a bubble, it's skin stretching whichever way he moved. No hope of freedom. Can't escape yourself. Can relive every bad decision.

Vodka. Neat. Ice cold. Tumbler after tumbler, like crystal clear water, washing away his sins. Needed.

 

 


End file.
